A Box and Its Girl
by OceanFae
Summary: Kirsty Cotton is having a problem. The dead are rising, she's getting strange calls, and to top it all off, she's being stalked by a box.
1. A Girl and Her Box

AN: Hello, all! Ocean's traveled into the wonderful world of Hellraiser. You should all be worried. Any-who, this is a new story, and I want it to be dark and somewhat funny, reminiscent of the Hellseeker. There is a new character that we haven't heard from before, as well as a few familiar faces from the old films. I wont give anything away, but a certain six sided someone has decided who it wants its new mommy to be- and she wont be happy.

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><p>Kirsty smiled lightly to herself as she swept the kitchen floor. The house she had bought was big, bigger than she needed, and older than she wanted. The floors creaked and there were leaks in the roof, but she used her savings and bought it anyway.<p>

She liked the openness of the floor plan, the ability to see all the rooms in one sweep, and the big, leaky windows that rattled when the wind blew. She was still moving in, still settling, and there were boxes littering each room. She didn't have enough stuff to fit in the house. The rooms were bare without furniture and the meager table and chairs didn't do the dining room justice.

When she had moved out of her apartment, she neatly packed all of her late husband's belongings along with her own, and stacked them nicely in the center of the living room when she left. Let the buzzards have them, she thought, and she rented a truck for her own stuff. One couch, one bed, one chair, one table… not enough to fill the bottom floor, much less the whole house. But she made herself unload and unpack, tossing her old life behind her and refusing to think of death.

She smiled as she worked, moving the broom around boxes and attempting to get behind the old stove with it. The windows, the ones she could pry open, rattled as the wind whipped though the house, bringing in pollen and the smell of rain. She needed curtains, she decided, and a bookshelf. _And a safe._ She glanced at her rickety kitchen table, where a small box glinted inconspicuously at her.

She hadn't unpacked it yet, she was sure, yet there it was, mocking her.

"What do you want?" She placed her hands on her hips and glared at it. It glittered in the sunlight streaming through the window, looking as innocent as a hell raising puzzle box can.

She had tried getting rid of it, to her defense. She'd tossed it into dumpsters, thrown it into rivers, and on one very odd occasion, threw it off a building. But it would always turn up again, dripping and soggy, and smelling faintly of vanilla. _Like a stray dog,_ she thought, frowning deeply at it.

She bent over the table and poked it with her finger. She could almost _feel_ it purr in satisfaction.

"One of these days, Box, you're gonna push me too far. And where will you be, then, huh? That's right. In a car compactor, waiting to get squished to death. Now, let's go pick out some curtains."

The box seemed exited at the prospect. She already knew that she was crazy. What kind of a person would do the things she'd done, see the things she'd seen, and not come out a little loopy? But, she reasoned, the box did seem to have a mystical mojo going on, so it wasn't too farfetched that it understood her frustration with it.

She pulled her hair into a ponytail, wiping the sweat and grime off her face on a dishtowel. She trotted upstairs for a change of clothes.

When she entered the room, the box seemed to be smirking at her from the bed.

"How the fuck do you do that?" She threw her hands in the air angrily, and snatched it up. "Is it too much to ask that you wait downstairs? It's not like I'm leaving you, damn it!" She placed the box on the floor outside her door like a small child. "Stay," she growled, slamming the door on it.

Somewhere downstairs, the phone began to ring. It was a shrill sound, mixing in with the sound of howling wind and fluttering newspaper, and she raised her eyebrows, startled, pulling on her shoes in a rush and hopping down the stairs.

She picked it up in confusion. Had the phone company connected her already?

"Hello?" Her voice was calm, but laced with apprehension. The wind blew harder through the house, and the sun hid behind the clouds.

"Kirsty." The voice was raspy, crackling, and dark. She knew it.

"Who is this?" Kirsty, for all her bravery, was afraid. She gripped the phone tighter, waiting for a response.

"See you soon." The line clicked, and went dead. There was no dial tone. She looked at the phone, noticing for the first time the absence of light there, and down at the base, that showed no signs of ever being plugged in. She didn't even think she packed the cord.

Kirsty, for all her bravery, was bone deep terrified.

She jumped when the phone rang again, this time from her purse. Her heart raced, as she rummaged around for it, sliding it open.

"Hello?" Anger leaked into her voice, to cover her fear.

"Mrs. Gooden?" A man's voice, startled, went on, "This is detective Casey, do you remember me?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, yes. Its Miss Cotton, again, actually. What can I help you with?" Relief soared through her, and she rolled her eyes at herself.

"Well, Miss Cotton, I'm afraid this isn't a personal call. There is an issue we have discovered, involving your late husband." The man's voice was grave.

"What?" She was confused, startled. "What issue? What's happened?"

"Well, Miss Cotton, his DNA was discovered on a crime scene. A recent one, in fact."

Her voice went hollow. "How is that possible, Detective?" The box glinted from its place by the phone, looking rather smug. She stared at it while the information sunk in.

"We're not sure. That's what we'd like to figure out. We are aware that you moved out of town."

"Yeah. I'm in the suburbs. The city was… too much."

"And your old apartment?"

"I left it. With all of his things."

"Ah. Well, the evidence… it couldn't have come from his belongings. It was… fresh. Blood and… personal fluids."

She choked. "How? How could that—"

"We're not sure. We need your permission to, ah, excavate the remains. We need to know if we're getting the wool pulled over our eyes here."

"Yes, yes, please go ahead. Let me know, if that's okay? What you…" She stopped, looking away from the box with lowered eyes. "_find_," she whispered, sitting down.

"Yes ma'am. I'll let you know if anything's amiss. I may need to call you again, ask you some questions."

"That's fine. Thank you, Detective," she murmured, hanging up the phone.

She looked at the box. "I think we need to have a chat with your friend." It glinted as the rain began, spilling through the windows and splashing on the hardwood.

She placed her fingers on it. "If he's back, the deal is off." The box thrummed under her touch. "We need to find him, you and I. If they notice he's gone, I'm fair game."

She sat the box down, and it seemed to pout at the lack of contact. She turned to the windows and began shutting them, slamming them down harder than necessary.

"I sent you to Hell once, I can do it again. They will not take me." She whirled around, staring at the box with wild eyes.

"We're going to need to go back, aren't we? To the city." She thought for a minute, grabbing a towel to clean up the rain off the floor. "I don't want to. But I need to know if he's back, alive, like…" She shook her head.

"We have to wait and see what they find in the grave. There's no use leaving now." She sighed and sat down. The box seemed to stare at her intensely.

"I'm not opening you until I know he's alive. For sure. Phone calls from Hell won't cut it. Your pointy friend and I aren't going to tango until I have Trevor in my hands as proof. I'm not going to take the risk of getting taken."

The box seemed to be mollified. There were many things it couldn't tell its protector. After being slung from place to place for so long, it enjoyed having one protector to keep it safe, especially one that knew its secrets and survived to see it again. As a doorway, it did not have a soul, or a true consciousness, but it was in no way inanimate—it knew what it liked and did not like. It liked its master, and it liked its protector, and it liked its protector's purse, which was soft and dark.

What it wanted, more than anything, was to be solved again, and open the doorway. It could feel the others, opening all over the world, doing their jobs and being content. It wanted to tell its protector that, and be opened, and for hell to claim her. She could always be its protector then, and it would be content.

But she wouldn't open it, through fear and strength. Until now. Soon, it would be in its master's hands, with its protector at its side, ready to do its job. It hummed gleefully, feeling the tug that brought it to her as she left the room. Wherever she went, it went.

It couldn't wait to be opened. Its master would be so pleased that it finally chose a protector.

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><p>So, Kirsty's gettin called collect, the Box is getting cheeky, and Trevor seems to be alive and... ahem... kicking. What will our wonderful damsel do now that the box has taken a liking to her? Will she ever get free of her six sided suitor? And most importantly:<p>

WHEN IS SHE GOING TO SEE PINHEAD AGAIN?

All will be revealed, as soon as I find out myself.

Cheers, and please let me know what you think!


	2. A Custody Battle

Finally! Chapter two of my story. I have such sights to show you guys.

I'm actually quite gleeful about all the things that are to come. I hope it amuses you. It certainly makes me giggle in fangirly joy.

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><p>The rain was pouring down heavily when she climbed into her small rickety car. It was an old model, with peeling dark green paint riddled with rust. She bought it when she arrived in town off an old woman down the street, who said that it ran like a charm and had a good spare in the back. She lied on both counts.<p>

The car shook as she rode down the highway into town, rain leaking in through the windows. The box sat in her purse in the back seat, and she could feel its presence, restless and wanting. She rolled her eyes as it appeared suddenly in the cup holder, thrumming impatiently at her.

"What?" She glared at it, pulling into a parking space at the shopping center. She had hoped that her night would be a quiet one, too. That she'd plug in her TV and maybe watch a film, if she could find the VCR. Or, god forbid, do some laundry and finish unpacking her bedroom. But alas, it seemed she would once again be battling Hell for her soul.

She snatched her purse out of the back seat, popping the Configuration into it. Soon, they stood in front of a meager selection of curtains, where Kirsty stood intently, demanding to herself that she take part in this one normal event before embarking on another Hell-bound journey.

"What do you think," she murmured to her purse, "the green for the living room, or the red?"

The box stayed silent on the matter.

She loaded the green into her cart, and picked up some yellow sunflower patterned ones for her kitchen. She wanted a sunny, bright home, she thought to herself, nodding at her choices. She bought cheep curtain rods, wondering where she kept the nails at home, and wandered off to get sheets. They were harder to pick, and she winced at the prices. Her funds had become meager after her latest purchases, so she strolled to the grocery section, picking up some sandwich making supplies and a pack of bottled water. She avoided the milk, not wanting it to spoil while she made her trip to the city.

She steadfastly ignored the possibility that she would not be returning home at all, and that she should be running, sprinting away from this place as fast as she could, because death and suffering awaited her around every corner.

She ignored all this, and smiled brightly at the cashier, humming as she rolled her cart out the automatic doors.

At home, she stood on a creaking chair and hung the curtains she had bought, sweat dripping down her nose.

The phone rang, and she jumped, startled.

Again, it rang, and she gripped the hammer in her hand, eyeing it warily.

It rang once more, trilling from its powerless post, and she slid over to answer it, hammer at the ready. The box sat apprehensively on the table beside it.

"Hello?" She tried to sound strong and brave, but her voice shook.

"_Hello, Kirsty_." The deep voice crackled hellishly. She knew the voice. She had lived with it for six years, day in and day out, loved it and cherished it, till death did they part.

"Trevor." Oh, how her voice shook, in anger and in fear, because she had sentenced him to Hell and _God why was he back?_

"_I'm coming to see you, Kirsty_." The line crackled, going dead, toneless. She realized that her grip on the hammer had faltered, sending it crashing to the ground, and her hand found the box, squeezing it for comfort.

Her face was red in fear and anger, and she could not bring herself to calm down. _It was his fault,_ she knew it was, because she had left her husband in _their_ keeping and they couldn't even look after him. Trevor was sick, she knew, because the things he had done to her were cruel and the things she had seen him do with others were depraved, and he was loose again on the world.

Loose, and looking for revenge.

Her hands were moving on the box before she knew it, sliding along its compartments like the touch of an old lover, her fingers unlocking its secrets with ease. Before she had realized it, the bell was tolling, and the floorboards rattled and shook. Chains began cavorting in the air while the lights sizzled and popped.

"Kirsty." Her name fell off his lips like empty honey, and she jerked her head up to look at him, gripping the box tightly.

"You let him out." She stared directly into his eyes, black as pitch and shining like stars, her blood boiling under her skin.

He tilted his head, mockingly inquiring. "Who?"

She shot out of her chair, like a frizzy haired, sweaty demon, barking at him. "Trevor! He's out, and he's been _calling me,_ for Christ's sake! How could you _not know?_"

The tall man shaped creature raised his hands elegantly, watching as the chains danced around the angry woman. He could smell her fear, and feel her anger, such delicious emotion. "I did not know of his escape, Kirsty Cotton. It is none of my concern."

"_None of your concern?_" She rushed him, shaking the box in anger. "He was in Hell! That is your domain," She struggled to find something to call him, angrily settling with, "_mister,_ and we had a deal!"

"That we did." One side of his pale mouth drew up, amusement showing in his coal black eyes. The pins that decorated his skull glinted dangerously. "How interesting. And it seems you have yet again opened the box. It would seem that you have more fear of this mortal than of _me._"

She took a step back, eyes widening at the dark pitch resonating in his voice. He seemed almost affronted at the notion. "I do not."

"Then you no longer fear for your soul, Kirsty Cotton, or else I would not be here."

Her eyes sparked then, in defiance and fear. "I'm not going back with you." In her hands, the box thrummed almost painfully in power. She looked down at it, petting it with her thumbs. It jerked in her grip, flying towards its Master almost gleefully. He caught it quickly, faster that she would have guessed he could move, watching as his hands held it almost reverently. For the quickest second, his face flashed in surprise, but the emotion was masked as soon as it came.

"_Give that back_." The words tumbled out before she could stop him, surprised at the sudden feeling of possession that swept over her when the box left her hands. She felt like a kindergartener whose crayons had just been stolen.

"Do not command me, child," his voice seemed to come from every crevice of the room, startling her, but the feeling crawling over her skin still stayed.

Without knowing why, her hand raised, poised palm up in front of her. The box, sparking and confused, suddenly flew from its Masters hands to hers, like a lost child between fighting parents.

The Cenobite's face had lost its expression of calmness, suddenly looking as close to frustration and anger as it could manage. Kirsty, cradling the box to her chest, stepped back with a sudden surge of terror that made her stomach ache.

The box, now shaking and sparking with white power, ripped out of her hands once again, only to be jerked back by her call. After a few seconds more of their struggle, the box tumbled out of the air, exhausted and frustrated.

"So it has chosen." He grimaced, showing discolored teeth. "Regardless, you shall still suffer most greatly." At her glare, he stepped back, the smoky light playing with the shadows on his face, making the pins that decorated it seem almost alive.

"I'm going to find him. And you're going to take him back, in my place. And keep him there, because he doesn't deserve to be alive, here."

"And why should I take him back, with you right here, alone and broken in your empty house? What have you left to live for, Kirsty Cotton?"

"He's hurting people, killing them. You don't know him—"

"Oh, I beg to differ. We have spent much time together, your loving husband and I. I know all his secrets."

She looked down, pain sparking in her chest. "You weren't married to him. He is cruel, to more than just me."

The nails glinted as he made a noise similar to laughter. "Very well then. Find your husband, bring him to me. On one condition."

She eyed him warily, as the clinking of chains and the far off toll of bells began to fade. "If he is not returned within three days, you will come in his place."

Three days. She closed her eyes, briefly. She could find him. _She could._ And if not, well. Three days is enough time to say goodbye to the world.

"Deal."

The chains withdrew, leaving silence in their wake, and as she looked around the room, she noticed with dismay that they had ripped her new curtains to shreds.

"Damn it!" She began to cry as she scooped the box off the floor, tears streaming hotly down her face, intermingling with snot and anger. Her throat cramped as she stomped around the kitchen, tossing pots into cupboards. After finding sandwich bags in the mess, she set out to angrily make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the road.

The box sat on her table, radiating tension and frustration. This was not what it wanted. It had chosen, _finally chosen_, and its Master did not approve. He did not take her into Hell, like he should have, and the Master seemed to ignore its pleas. The Configuration would not stand for it. It had chosen, and its wishes would be carried through, even if it had to pull its Master through the Schism to prove it to him.

Suddenly, the doorway to Hell had an idea. A most terrible, wonderful idea.

And as Kirsty raged around the kitchen, she wondered briefly why the box seemed suddenly so smug.

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><p>As you might have noticed, I refrain from calling him Pinhead. I do that cause I just don't think that's what she calls him in her head. She'll find out his name, eventually. As I'm taking my lead not only from the movies, but the comics and the <em>Hellbound Heart,<em> she's going to be calling him a multitude of names, including but not limited to Priest, Bastard, and Ass.

Also, I watched a clip from the first movie recently. The infamous scene where Pinhead unfurls behind her, all leathery and demonic, claiming "We have such sights to show you." And Kirsty, she just turns around, looks him in the eye, and yells "SHIT!".

That, my friends, is how I want my Kirsty to be. Insane, pissed off, terrified and brave all at the same time.

Well, what do you think? Leave a review, please, if only to let me know I'm not alone in this fandom!


	3. Road Trip!

AN: Look who's all moved into college! And here goes chapter three! ( I think I may have to watch Hellraiser agian. Pinhead is getting more difficult to write without the proper mindset. Hope you like it, and cheers!

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><p>Kirsty did not enjoy the look the box was giving her. It wasn't really a look, per say, as the box had no eyes, but she could feel its stare. It was an intense, wide eyed stare, the sort where the person does not blink and wiggles their eyebrows in a displeasing manner at you while you meander about the kitchen. It was unnerving.<p>

The curtains swayed delicately in the air, making the scene both comforting and disturbing as there was no breeze.

The sandwiches were packed neatly into her small cooler, with two bottles of water and a little ice. She had a small duffle bag stuffed with pants and shirts and a very large night shirt filled with holes that she used to putter around the apartment in when no one was home. She wondered briefly at packing a toothbrush—would there be any water at the apartment when she got back? She didn't even remember if she still had a copy of the key, or if she had even left the key to the landlord.

She wondered if there would be anything left.

She wondered if Trevor would be there in the shadows when she returned, skinless and murderous like her uncle.

She doubted that there would be anything to go back to. But she had to start somewhere.

"Come on, Box." She picked up the offending object and stuck it in her purse. It sparked in the darkness, just out of her line of vision.

After gathering up the bags and placing them in the backseat, she went to say goodbye to her house.

Kirsty's hand lingered on the chipped paint of her front door before sliding the lock into the deadbolt. "I'll be back soon." She whispered, feeling silly and fighting back tears. Somewhere, in the dark swirls of her mind, she wondered if she would ever be happy. She wondered when the last time she laughed was. Or the last time she had a conversation with a person that didn't want to torture her eternally in Hell.

She climbed into the car with a sigh, tossing her purse in the back seat. The car made a thick coughing sound before starting, sputtering briefly in the rain. The windshield wipers screeched across the glass in a monotonous pattern as she pulled onto the highway, past the houses and into the fields, the clouds around her rolling and dark.

The pressure between her thighs was sudden, making her swerve in shock. The box sat, sparking with blue light, in the crevice between her legs. She grabbed at it, recoiling when the raw electricity rolled up her hand and played on her bones painfully.

"Hey!" Her voice was laced with anger, and she snatched it and threw it in the seat beside her. "That's _enough!_" Her eyes went from the box to the road, staring resolutely at the traffic ahead of her.

"What has gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same question."

A deep, hollow voice rolled like black oil out of the seat beside her, and her head swung so fast she felt an intense pop and a flare of pain in her neck. Her hands jerked the wheel in both directions, swerving them across the road in a screech of burning rubber and fear as she slammed on the breaks.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" She howled, her voice breaking, staring at the man in the seat beside her. The pins that decorated his pale skull gleamed in the dusky light, and his lips pulled up in a slight smirk.

"Not quite."

She held her hand to her chest, calming the insane beat that her heart was making. They were on the side of the road, and she smacked on her flashers.

"_What_." She closed her eyes. "What are you doing here."

"I could ask you that. I thought our business was done for the time being, but it seems you can not get enough of me today." His dark voice was mocking, and his eyes were black as pitch. The bloody knives on his belt clinked awkwardly in the silence, looking extremely out of place in her vehicle. The blood from the tips of his leather duster dripped on the grey interior.

"_I_ didn't bring you here!"

He sneered. "And I did not come here uninvited."

"Then LEAVE!" She grabbed the box from the cup holder. "Fuck!" As she dropped it, it crackled a fiery blue warning. "Fine." She growled. The cenobite across from her gave her a look of amusement.

He grabbed the box, and though the electricity ran up his hands, he pressed into it, attempting to solve the puzzle himself.

The chains came from nowhere, it seemed, leaping from the box and into the flesh of his cheeks and neck like an angry dog. Dark blood spilled from his flesh as he barked in shock and his eyes flashed in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Through the streams of blood, he growled out, "I will not stay." As the chains pulled tighter, his eyes closed. Kirsty looked on in horror, her hands rising, and to her shock she realized she was cursing repeatedly.

"Are you okay?" Her hands flew to his face of their own accord, pulling at the hooks to release him.

"It seems that I am not able to leave." His words were tight, and he smiled a painful smile as she attempted to remove the barbed hook from his cheek. "How touching, Kirsty."

She glared, near hysterically. Her fingertips were slick with blood, almost black in color. The chains were pulled taunt, and she smacked the box repeatedly on its side, slapping the Cenobites hands in the process.

"Loosen up!" Stubbornly, the box pulled the chains tighter, ripping the flesh and causing the cenobite to lean forward minutely and grit his teeth.

"I said _loosen the chains."_ Her voice was stern and harsh, like an adult to an unruly child.

The chains clinked slowly as they loosened. The demon let the box settle lightly, raising his hand to unhook his bloody flesh. Kirsty tugged impatiently on the one in his cheek, and upon realizing that he was staring at her very intently, let go, raising her hands in the air.

"_Sorry_."

She pulled back onto the road slowly, noticing with dismay her near empty tank. Her bloodied hands smeared on the pleather steering wheel, making the surface slick and shiny. The tension in the car was thick, awkward, and very, very dangerous.

The box crackled in the lap of its Master. It was over exited in the presence of the two people it belonged to, and its focus was completely on keeping its Master chained to this side of the Schism. The longer they were together, the easier its plan would be.

And what a puzzling, beautiful plan it was.

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><p>Soooo, how do you like it? I'm diggin the Pinsty, but we really need more of a horror thing goin on, dont ya think... I'll try to throw in some creepy lusty Pinhead stares while I'm at it.<p>

Well, waddaya think? Tell me in a comment!


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